


Score

by ddagent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Football | Soccer, Hotels, Kissing, Romance, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: Brienne, manager of the Evenstar hotel, is propositioned by one of her guests: Lannisport City's goalkeeper and the sexiest sportsman in Westeros, Jaime Lannister.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 115
Kudos: 437





	Score

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](https://lotstradamus.tumblr.com/post/623532767934840832) about a hotel employee who got to witness an English side in nothing but a towel and was professional af in the moment. I hope you enjoy!

“Evenstar Hotel, this is reception; how can I be of service?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Brienne Tarth wondered for a moment whether someone had rung down to the front desk by accident. But then: “ _You know, you really have a_ lovely _voice. Is working reception job your full-time occupation, or do you do audiobooks on the side?”_

Brienne sucked in a sharp breath. She did not have time for such games; not with her hotel at full capacity. The Lannisport City – Tarth FC game had drawn fans from all over Westeros, and they had been lucky – or unlucky, depending on who you supported – to host the away team for the match. As a lifelong Tarth FC supporter, Brienne had initially been against letting their opponents stay at the Evenstar. But her father, the CEO of the Evenstar chain, had politely reminded her that money was money. _We’ll beat them on the pitch, anyway, Little Star. Might as well take their dragons, too._

Unfortunately, that left Brienne, the manager of the flagship hotel on Tarth, dealing with rooms upon rooms of rowdy football fans. Including this rather obnoxious caller. “If you have a legitimate query, complaint or request, please let me know. Anything else, I do not have time for.”

“ _You’re quite forthright, aren’t you? I like that.”_ Brienne rolled her eyes. “ _Of course, I’m not sure how your manager would feel about you being so brusque with me.”_

Another eye roll. Brienne really hoped Tarth beat Lannisport City into the _ground._ “Listen, Mister—”

“— _Lannister. Jaime Lannister. Number 7.”_ Ah. The golden goalie. The captain of the Lannisport Lions. The annoyingly handsome football player who had sent several of her staff swooning when he and the rest of his team had arrived earlier that day. “ _I seem to have become locked out of my room. Would you be a_ dear _and bring up a spare key? I’m in the massage room.”_

Brienne bit the inside of her mouth and said, “Of course, Mister Lannister.”

Then, before he could get in the last word, she disconnected the call. Leaving Podrick to attend to any late check-ins, Brienne retrieved a spare key card for Jaime Lannister’s room and began making her way to the seventh floor. A few football fans were milling around the bar; red and gold amidst blue and silver. Hyle, the head barman, caught her eye as she passed through on her way to the back staircase. Ever since their first, nay, _only_ date, Hyle had been angling for another – when he wasn’t offering to _help_ her with the hotel. And it seemed he wasn’t done trying: he abandoned a customer in favour of meeting her at the other end of the bar.

“Here to see me, Brienne?”

“Do I need to see you about something?” Years in hospitality had made her wary of superficial charm; Hyle Hunt had that in spades.

“No, no. Just thought you might want to watch the game here. I’ll save you the best seat.”

Brienne resisted the urge to roll her eyes yet again. The best seats were at Evenfall football ground, in the Tarth family box. She and her father had never missed a game and did not intend to start today. A seat at the bar, watching as Hyle tried and failed to disguise his revulsion to her, was not Brienne’s idea of a good time. Watching Jaime Lannister failing to stop the powerful kicks of their lead striker, however, _was._

“I’m actually on my way to the seventh floor, Hyle. One of our… _guests_ seems to have locked himself out of his room.”

At that, all colour drained from Hyle’s face. “Didn’t think that would be your style, Brienne.”

“What do you—” _Oh._ Hyle assumed she was making excuses in order to get close to the Lannisport City squad. At that, Brienne actually laughed. Loud, head thrown back; disturbing some of the other guests. “ _Gods,_ no. They’re the other _team._ ”

Hyle, who preferred tennis to a game of football, stared at her blankly. Brienne just brushed past him and his suspicions and headed the long way to the seventh floor. No one other than staff, on pain of dismissal, knew that Lannisport City were staying at the Evenstar. The club had used aliases when booking; bodyguards stood watch at both the lift and stairwell. It all seemed to be overkill to Brienne, who’s beloved home team were staying in their houses or with their families before the big match. She just hoped she wouldn’t run into too many of them on the seventh floor; Brienne wasn’t sure how civil she could be with Tarth FC’s rivals.

Using her key card to enter through the back stairwell, Brienne was greeted by a severe-looking bodyguard who towered over even _her,_ with burn scars on the right side of his face – and a Lannisport City lapel pin. Lifting her chin (a rare occurrence), Brienne addressed the man. “Mister Lannister is locked out of his room. I have a spare key card for him.”

“Alright.” Brienne expected him to take it so she could get back to her actual work. Instead, they stared at each other until the bodyguard gestured with his head towards the hall. “He’s down there. Massage room.”

“Oh.” Brienne swallowed. “Thank you.”

Perhaps he recognised her as the manager of the hotel; perhaps her attitude didn’t indicate she was an obsessed fan looking for an autograph – or something much more invasive. Either way, the guard (Clegane, she recalled from check-in) allowed her to pass. So, Brienne continued down to the massage room. It was one of their larger suites that had been converted in favour of their VIP guests: soothing music, massage tables instead of a bed, incense and oils. The lock had been disabled as no personal belongings were kept in the room, and it allowed management easy access in case idiotic goalkeepers became locked out of their suites.

Brienne entered the room without thinking. “Mister Lannister, I have your—”

And that was when Brienne realised she was in a room full of half-naked men.

Addam Marbrand, number eleven and Lannisport’s best striker, was sitting on a sofa with a small blue towel covering his privates. Daven Lannister, who had spent most of last season out with a particularly nasty ankle injury, had the tiniest towel known to Gods or Man covering his arse. Two other Lannisport City players were in the room, both naked save from the Evenstar’s complimentary towels – handtowels, from the looks of it. And there, on the massage table, was Jaime Lannister. Golden head propped up on crossed arms as the masseuse worked the muscles in his upper thighs; sapphire fabric barely covering a pert bottom.

“ _Ah,”_ he said, turning his head towards her. “The woman from the front desk.”

Thanking the masseuse, Jaime Lannister stood up from the massage table; blue towel placed strategically in front of his cock. Brienne tried, _desperately,_ not to let her eyes drift downwards. She barely took in golden skin with a fine dusting of hair; muscular arms and deft hands that stopped even the most dedicated of balls in their tracks. Toned thighs that Brienne would no doubt spend most of tonight’s game watching. She did, however, allow herself a single glance as he stood upright, before slipping on a professional visage and handing him his key.

“Mister Lannister.”

“Thank you, Ms—”

“—Tarth.” He raised a single eyebrow; his lips curling in amusement. For a moment, Brienne was lost in the beauty of his face: soft lips, bottle-green eyes, a golden lion’s mane. There was a reason why he was considered the hottest sportsman in Westeros. For just a moment, Brienne allowed herself to stare at the Warrior in goalkeeper gloves. And then: “Enjoy your stay, Mister Lannister.”

Her heart was racing as she passed Clegane and fled back to the front desk.

\--

Brienne tried to act nonchalant in front of her employees as she returned to reception. After all, she had just attended to a guest, and Jaime Lannister was no more important than any other staying at the Evenstar. Even if his body appeared carved from marble; the scent of honeysuckle and sweat still lingering in her memory. But after she had nearly entered two reservations incorrectly while thinking about those talented hands on her skin, Brienne had to retreat to her office for the rest of her shift.

After trying – and failing – to work on the quarterly reports, Brienne decided to leave early for the match. Wearing her Tarth FC shirt and scarf, she hoped to slip out the back and head down to the football ground unnoticed. However, Brienne had mistimed her departure, and instead ran into the Lannisport City players while she was dressed in silver and blue. A few gave her amused glances at her apparel. Only number seven stopped.

“Nice shirt,” Jaime said, wearing significantly more clothes than the last time she’d seen him. He peered around the back to see her name and number. “Blackfish?”

“My favourite player.” Brynden ‘Blackfish’ Tully had left Riverrun United to play for Tarth FC when Brienne was six; inspiring a lifelong love of the game. He’d been unbeatable on the pitch: the best striker she’d ever seen. His signed shirt hung in her office, right above her desk. She didn’t expect Jaime Lannister to share her appreciation; his favourite player was probably himself.

But he actually grinned, and said, “Mine too. Do you remember that game at Winterfell, where it snowed on the pitch?”

She nodded. The captain of the Winterfell side, Brandon Stark, had broken his leg on a patch of ice. Tully scored twice before the game had been called off. “He was one heck of a player. A shame they don’t make them like that anymore.”

“Touché, Ms Tarth,” Jaime said; his smile fixed in place as he chatted with her. “Manager of the Evenstar and so _desperate_ to meet me that you did a job one of your staff could have easily done.”

Brienne snorted. “I don’t believe in hiding in my office, Mister Lannister, especially during a busy weekend. Believe me, the highlight of my day will be watching you _lose,_ not seeing you in a small towel.”

“Oh, so you did _see_ me in that towel?” Jaime Lannister teased his bottom lip with his teeth, and her traitorous stomach somersaulted. “I should thank you again, Ms Tarth. My lucky gloves were in my room; without that key, who knows how many of your goals I would have _nearly_ let in.”

“I don’t think your hands are nearly as good as you think they are.”

Drawing closer, Jaime’s eyes locked with hers. The green eyes she’d first glimpsed in the massage room were blown; his breathing ragged and mouth open. His tongue swept across his top lip as his eyes drunk her in. She was in good shape; Jaime’s gaze lingering on muscular thighs built from running and playing five-a-side on the weekends. He stared at her breasts; her nipples hard against the thin material of her football shirt. In all her years working in hospitality, Brienne had never had such a visceral reaction to a guest before. Film stars, musicians, other teams had all stayed here with no response. And yet…

“Come to my room tonight after the game, Ms Tarth, and I’ll show you how good my hands _really_ are.”

Brienne gasped. Jaime Lannister, the golden goalie, just winked and joined his teammates in the town car waiting outside.

\--

If Jaime Lannister had wanted to ruin the game for her, he had _bloody well_ succeeded. Brienne spent the first half of the Lannisport City – Tarth FC match distracted, despite several brilliant saves by Jaime and a nasty foul a mere metre from the penalty box. During half time, as they got fresh drinks and reapplied their face paint, her father finally enquired as to what was keeping Brienne so removed from the game.

“Everything alright, Little Star?”

“I’m fine,” she said, far too quickly. Her father continued to stare, however, so Brienne relented just as the players returned to the pitch and began to warm up for the second half. “Have you ever had a guest proposition you? You know _…for sex._ ”

Selwyn Tarth coughed into his beer. “That wasn’t what I was–but, yes, Brienne, I have had the odd guest invite me into their room. I never took them up on it, though.”

“Of course not.” She grew stiff as the Lannisport City players started jogging and stretching; Jaime Lannister losing his jacket to the delight of the crowd. He couldn’t possibly know what box she was in; nor see her from this distance. But Brienne could somehow feel his gaze, and _desire_ flooded through her. “But what if you _really_ want to?”

Her father followed her eye line before spluttering once again. “One of the Lannisport players propositioned you?”

“Number seven.” Jaime Lannister. _Ice and Fire_ magazine’s sexiest man five years in a row. Saying it out loud, hearing a stadium chant _take it off, take it off,_ made Brienne realise how _ridiculous_ the whole thing was. Jaime Lannister had propositioned _her_? _Pfft._ “It was probably a joke; some way to get the upper hand. I doubt he was serious.”

“Or, maybe, he finds you attractive.” Brienne snorted disparagingly. Her father took her hand tight in his. “Maybe he wants to spend more time with the only person in Westeros who could beat him in a penalty shoot-out.” Brienne’s under-21s career had come to a swift end, but she’d retired from the sport undefeated. “Did I ever tell you about the time Genna Frey came to stay at the hotel?”

Brienne shook her head. She remembered the films, though; the old romances she and her father had watched on Sunday afternoons to wind down after a morning of five-a-side. “Well, when you were away at training, she visited the hotel. Slipped me her room key. One of the housekeeping staff saw, told everyone. They were all waiting for me to go up. I never did.”

“Do you regret it?”

Her father shrugged. “I do, and I don’t. It would have been one heck of a night. But I truly believe I would have lost the respect of the staff in the process – and any right to call them out if they broke the rules.”

Brienne nodded as the referee blew the whistle to begin the second half. “So, you think I should forget about it.”

“I think you should do whatever will make you feel good in the morning, and the morning after that. I’ll love you, whatever you do.” Both stood up as Tarth FC’s striker made a play for the Lannisport goal. Jaime Lannister, however, snatched it from the air and threw it to his defence to push forward. “You could have at least picked a Tarth man, Brienne.”

For the first time all game, she laughed.

\--

Lannisport City beat Tarth FC 2-1. It was a thrilling game; the Lannisport side on-point except for one brief moment when their goalkeeper had been looking up into the crowd and saw the ball too late. He made up for it five minutes later by stopping a penalty shot. All in all, Brienne returned to the Evenstar defeated. She unwound the scarf from her neck, changed out of her Tarth FC shirt and back into her work apparel, and decidedly did _not_ go up to Jaime Lannister’s room on the seventh floor. As much as she wanted to, Brienne knew her staff (especially Hyle) would never let her live it down. She was management; she had to be responsible.

A proposition from the man of the match would have to be good enough.

Most of their guests were out celebrating; the pubs and bars thick with football fans. They had closed the hotel bar one hour after the match to prevent any noise complaints; security on the door reminding any incoming guests about quiet hours and shepherding them straight to the lift. Brienne stayed in her office later than planned, going over schedules and hotel reviews. Ideally, she would just leave. But, perhaps, she needed to stay in order to prove that Jaime Lannister wasn’t serious about his proposition.

But, just after eleven, Podrick phoned through from the front desk. “Is everything alright, Podrick?”

 _“Not really, Ms Tarth. One of the guests on the seventh floor is having trouble with his key card._ ”

Of course he was. Whenever they hosted teams, there was usually a slew of problems: air conditioning, room cards, forgotten items. How so many grown men could forget toothbrushes, she had no idea. “Send someone from maintenance to help, Podrick.”

The young man paused; Brienne could almost feel his wince on the other end. “ _Unfortunately, Ms Tarth, this is the second time he’s had issues with it today and would like to talk to management.”_

“Alright, put him through.” Brienne sighed and took the call. “This is Ms Tarth, the hotel manager. I’ve been told you’re having problems with your key card?”

“ _Yes, I am._ ” Jaime. _“I keep opening my door, but the woman I invited to join me isn’t there._ ”

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._ “Our hotel does not provide companionship, Mister Lannister, although I do believe our bartender can offer you some recommendations.”

“ _And here I was hoping I would see you again, Ms Tarth.”_

“I never agreed to your request, Mister Lannister. I assume you are unused to rejection.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Brienne fully expected him to end the call; go out and find one of the numerous fans in the hotel or the bars beyond to bring back to his room for a post-match celebration. Instead, he just huffed. “ _I’m not one to push my advances when they’re unwelcome, Ms Tarth. But I actually wasn’t lying about my key card not working. I went to talk to Daven, and now I can’t get back in.”_

“Oh.” She swallowed. “That’s fine; I can send someone from maintenance up with a new card.”

_“Thank you, Ms Tarth. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable before. That wasn’t my intention; I just thought…clearly, I misread things between us.”_

“You didn’t,” she blurted, kicking herself for the remark as soon as it had left her mouth. “I’ll send someone shortly, Mister Lannister.”

 _“Jaime. My name’s Jaime._ ”

At that, he hung up. Drawing in a shaky breath, Brienne called the maintenance department to attend to _Jaime’s_ key card issue. No one, however, was answering. Brienne knew she should wait and call again shortly. But she had always considered herself a _hands-on_ type of manager. So, kicking herself all the way, Brienne prepared a second key card and climbed the back stairs to the seventh floor. Clegane was still on the door and rolled his eyes as he saw her and yet another key card.

At the end of the hall stood Jaime Lannister.

Brienne crossed the distance to his room; heart hammering in her ears with every step. His golden hair was damp from a recent shower; he wore a white t-shirt and grey sleep shorts. He exuded a casual elegance that was only betrayed by his firm grip upon the door handle at the sight of her.

“You’re probably using it incorrectly,” Brienne stated, brushing against Jaime’s chest to open the door for him. “You need to insert it at just the right angle.”

“Every door’s different. Guess I just need to find the right touch to get this one to open up for me.” His hand hovered over her hip; close but not touching. At the other end of the hall, Clegane was staring intently at the fire evacuation plan for something to do. He was not there to witness Jaime’s head brush against hers; lips lingering at the line of her jaw. “Please tell me you’re staying.”

Brienne shook her head. “I can’t. My staff—”

“—I understand. I just have this issue with the lights,” Jaime offered, his torso warm and firm against her back. “That should take a few minutes. Can you help me with _that_ , Ms Tarth?”

“Just a few minutes?”

His lips finally connected with her skin; pressing against the juncture where her neck met her shoulder. “I told you I’d show you how good I am with my hands.”

Groaning, Brienne gave a single nod before pushing open the door to Jaime Lannister’s hotel suite. The pair stumbled across the threshold, slamming the door closed before Brienne was soon pressed up against it. Jaime was strong; his hands firm against her hips as he held her in place. With one hand pressed to the length of her neck, they kissed. It was all passion and heat; her mouth unguarded as Jaime’s tongue pushed forwards towards the goal. 

Her fingers slid through golden strands as his mouth began to leave kiss after kiss to her neck. His hands palmed her breasts through the thin material of her blouse; Jaime’s fingers deftly undoing the buttons so he could slip underneath the fabric. His fingers pinched and teased her right nipple as his teeth laved at a spot on her throat.

“I saw you,” he gasped between kisses, “at the match. You were shouting at the ref; I couldn’t stop watching.”

Brienne moaned as his other hand clutched at her thigh. “You’re not blaming me for missing that goal.”

“Why not? You’re so—” He groaned as his hand cupped her cunt through the fabric of her jeans, feeling the heat between her thighs. “ _Fuck,_ I don’t even know your name.”

“ _Brienne._

He lifted his head from the crook of her neck; his green eyes hazy as his hands found the button of her jeans. Then her zipper. With a quick tug, her trousers pooled at her feet. Then her knickers, in Tarth colours. Grinning, Jaime pressed a teasing hand atop her stomach; not _nearly_ close enough to where she wanted it. “ _Brienne_ , I’m going to show you how good my hands are. By the time I’m done, you’ll admit I’m the best goalkeeper in the league.”

“I mean, Tyrell for Highgarden—"

Any further attempts to tease the Football Trust player in her arms failed as his mouth covered hers and Brienne was lost in a sea of sensations. The scent of lemon from his shower gel; his fingertips pinching and twisting her nipple until her hips were thrusting at nothing but air. His thigh pressed between hers, spreading her legs wide. His cock, fully erect and unrestrained by his sleep shorts, rubbed against her hip.

And then— “ _Oh._ ”

Jaime Lannister, the golden goalkeeper for Lannisport City, began to touch her. A few strokes of her clit before he moved to her opening, gathering her wetness on his fingertips. He circled her clit as he rocked his hips to hers; one finger sliding inside her. Brienne threw her head back against the hotel door, exposing her throat to Jaime’s mouth. She’d need to wear her Tarth FC scarf all day tomorrow; the Lannisport captain had marked her as his.

“Oh; _oh, Gods._ ”

There were two fingers inside her now. Moving rhythmically along with the soft strokes of her clit; curling ever so whenever Jaime tugged at her nipple. Brienne could feel herself grow wetter with each thrust; her orgasm building until she all she knew was _Jaime._ By the time he added a third finger, she was a wreck. As his strokes on her clit grew firmer, faster, Jaime’s mouth abandoned Brienne’s neck in favour of sucking her pebbled nipples through her shirt.

Brienne came; one hand clamped across her mouth. Jaime’s head returned to the crook of her neck; her name whispered against her throat as he climaxed against her thigh.

She wanted to sag into his arms; be carried to his king size-bed and let him prove what the rest of him could do. But Brienne knew she had already been on the seventh floor too long. As Jaime retreated to the en suite to clean himself up, Brienne fixed her shirt and finger-combed her hair; hoping no one looked too closely as she left for the night.

When Jaime returned from the bathroom, he pressed a slip of paper into her hand. “My number. And the number of the room I always stay at when I’m in Lannisport. We have a home game in two weeks. Maybe, if you’re not running the hotel, you can stay the night?”

“I—” Brienne knew she had the weekend off. Brienne knew she wanted him, and more. “It’s a date.” Checking her watch, Brienne knew she had run out of time. Opening the door, she slid on her visage of professionalism once more. “If you have any more issues, please feel free to call maintenance directly. I hope you’ll enjoy the remainder of your stay at the Evenstar, Mister Lannister.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will. Truly, it’s a shame to be checking out so early. Maybe next time I’m in town you could recommend some places to visit. Museums, beaches, _homes._ ” Jaime beamed. “Have a pleasant night, Ms Tarth.”

“And you, Mister Lannister.”

Jaime’s gaze followed her down the hall. Clegane said nothing as she passed him at the stairs; nor did any of her staff as they began preparing for the following morning. She commiserated about the Tarth loss, ignored Hyle’s offer to drive her home, and instead headed back to her place for a few hours of restless sleep. She dimly recalled entering Jaime’s number in her phone and had the vaguest recollection of texting him something inane before drifting off. When she woke, it was to a message with a picture attachment.

> **Jaime:** You never told me you played.

The attachment was a picture of the Under-21s squad; Brienne standing tall as captain and striker. It was accompanied by a series of heart-eye emojis.

> **Jaime:** Penalty shoot-out at Lannisport?

Although Brienne’s team had lost, she felt like she’d won after all. 


End file.
